


it's the most wonderful time of the year

by MJ_Oswald



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Christmas, Drunkenness, First Kiss, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, i guess, the great depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 09:32:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2846240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MJ_Oswald/pseuds/MJ_Oswald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas in 1937, and Bucky is having trouble getting a present for Steve. So... He goes for a different route.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's the most wonderful time of the year

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a Christmas present for the Secret Santa Marvel Gift Exchange thing I did, so I hope my person enjoys it, and I hope the rest of you do too. Happy Holidays! :)

**1937**

 

When the Depression hit, oranges became a fantasy, one that would haunt the dreams of all people. No longer would children wake up on Christmas morning to apples and oranges, but rather old potatoes, if you were lucky.

James Buchanan Barnes was trudging back in the darkness of Brooklyn, on his way  back from a long day at the docks. Everything ached, his ankles, hands, head, you name it. He was also freezing, his threadbare gloves and coat doing nothing to protect him against the cold December evening.

It was Christmas Eve and all he wanted was a god damn orange.

Not all for himself though, some for Steve as well, considering he was the one who started this whole orange craving anyway.

 

_“At least we still have some form of stockings this year.” Steve sighed gloomily, hanging up two over-large socks over the rusty furnace._

_“Why are you even bothering putting those things up?” Bucky asked him. Both of them very well knew the likelihood of either of them being able to get a present for the other was next to none; they couldn’t even afford a Christmas tree._

_“Maybe out of the hope that Santa will leave us some oranges.” Steve joked._

 

Bucky hadn’t been able to get oranges out of his head since.

That had been about a week ago, and that night it was Christmas Eve. Bucky had not managed to get Steve a single thing, even if he had been working his ass off for this entire month.

“Damn it!” Bucky shouted, kicking over a trash can on the side of the road, feeling satisfied as he heard the clang of it as it hit the street and having the reeking garbage splatter all over.

Why couldn’t he do anything right? Why couldn’t he just get his best friend a nice gift? Why couldn’t he just… just…

Bucky kept trudging up the sidewalk. He wasn’t always like this. He used to be the boy that never got in fights. He got high marks in class. He played with his little sister well too.

Then Steve showed up.

Bucky sighed and looked up. Right next to him was his usual bar, its cheep beer and closeness to his apartment made it a prime spot. He promised himself that he wouldn’t go tonight though, Steve said he was making something special for dinner.

But he was always being ordered around by Steve, hell if it wasn’t for Steve, he would still be the same guy he was before.

He pulled the small wad of cash out of his pocket, the money he had been saving for Steve’s present.

 Pushing his shoulders back, along with his guilt, he pulled the bar doors open.

  
  


* * *

 

Steve had hoped he could afford the turkey.

He had used up almost all of his charcoals and pencils making drawings and selling them on street corners. Steve had stood in the cold for so long his fingers would cramp up and his nose would make Rudolph himself run for cover.

In the end, on Christmas Eve, all the turkeys were sold.

He was so mad at himself, how could he do this? He even told Bucky that he would be cooking something special. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew that Bucky was slaving away at the docks so he could get him something for Christmas, and he couldn’t even give him a turkey for dinner.

Steve Rogers was also an idiot. Finding out that he could not afford the turkey, his first instinct was to pick a fight with this one guy in the alley behind the store.

After a black eye and a bloody nose Steve decided to go to the bar, not the one that he and Bucky usually went to, but a fancier one, hell, he had the money, why not splurge a little bit on himself, even if he could only afford himself to get a little tipsy at best.

His mother had always said he had a heart of gold. She also said he was as stubborn as an ass. And he got into too many fights. She also often said that he was a bad influence on Bucky. His grades were good though.

Steve shook his head to clear his thoughts. Why was he thinking about what his dead mother used to say, when he could be getting drunk (tipsy?)

Rubbing together his cold hands, he went inside the bar.

  
  


* * *

 

_I._

_Am._

_So._

_Fucking._

_Drunk._

These were one of the many thoughts that ran through Bucky Barnes’ mind as he stumbled home, the world nothing but a blur around him. A wonderful, beautiful blur, making the lights reflecting in the night sky all the more enjoyable to him.

He couldn’t remember how long he had stayed in the bar, or how many drinks he had. He guessed it didn’t really matter anyway.

Steve.

This was yet another one of his thoughts running through his drunken mind. It sung through him, filling his bones, making him feel lighter than the sun.

“What the hell are you thinking Barnes?” he scolded himself.

Finally he stumbled to his front door of the apartment building and into his own apartment door, which was already open.

Steve was sitting on the small couch in the corner of the kitchen/living area, scribbling madly in his sketchbook, the charcoal staining his fingers black. He had this feverish look in his eyes, the look he only got when he was drawing. It made his face transform, it got rid of the purple circles under his eyes, and made him less pale.

Bucky didn’t want to ruin it, it was all to perfect. He continued letting the world blur around him, making it so it was just him and Steve in the little apartment.

Steve looked up from his scribbling and saw Bucky. His face broke into a smile. Bucky could feel his cheeks turn redat being caught.

“Hey Buck.” Steve said, closing his sketchbook. His words sounded slurred, not as slurred as Bucky’s though.

“What were you drawing?” Bucky asked. Steve traced his fingers across the cover of his sketchbook.

“Nothing important.” Steve answered.

“I thought you were making something?” Bucky said. Steve shook his head.

“I’m sorry Buck. The thing I wanted to make… the stuff was all sold out.”

Bucky let out a sigh of relief. Now some of the guilt had seemed to be lifted away from his shoulders.

Only some.

Steve patted the cushion next to him on the couch. Bucky smiled and plopped down next to him, his arms and legs spread. Steve sniffed at the air.

“Have you been drinking?” he asked Bucky, who nodded.

“I… might have also had a little bit to drink too.” Steve admitted, giving a side glance at Bucky. “Though I don’t think I had as much to drink as you did.”

Bucky gave a low laugh, “Yeah, probably not. In all honesty I’m completely drunk right now.”

“I can tell. Your face is really red, also I don’t think I’ve seen you smile like this in over a month.” Steve pointed out, his own cheeks turning a bright red.

The pair lapsed into an awkward silence, the bustle of traffic outside seeming to fill up the apartment, stretching out time. Bucky could hear his heart beating faster in his chest, thudding hard against his ribs.

Why did he always feel like this around Steve? Even when he wasn’t drunk, he felt this all the time. He wondered if he was dying. That would make sense. Isn’t this some sort of heart problem? Maybe Steve would know what it was, he had plenty of heart problems.

Bucky opened his mouth to say something when Steve interrupted.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get you a present this year.”

Bucky sagged into the couch.

“Ah, it’s okay Stevie. I was going to get you a present too. But then… I don’t know. I did kinda an asshole thing.”

“You spent it on booze, didn’t you?” Steve guessed, grinning at Bucky.

“How’d you know?”

Steve shrugged, “I know you.”

Bucky could not help but feel like garbage. Steve hadn’t even expected him to give him a present, and he was right. What kind of person spent the cash that he saved for someone he cared about?

Bucky felt a tear leak out of his eye. Steve turned to him. His blue eyes turned soft, making Bucky melt beneath his gaze. Steve reached his finger out and wiped away Bucky’s tear.

“Hey, I didn’t mean anything.” Steve whispered.

“It’s okay, it’s just… I’m such an ass. I don’t know what happened, but i’ve just been so horrible, and now here I am, drunk, presentless, and on Christmas Eve. How can you even stand me?” Bucky put his head in his hands. Steve spoke:

“Well, it’s kind of my fault that you’re like this. Ever since you became friends with me it just seems like everything has gone downhill for you, especially since we graduated high school. I’m really sorry Bucky… you don’t need to blame yourself.”

Bucky’s head shot up.

“Don’t ever blame yourself Steve. I’m this person, just like you are yours. We are two people, and we’re in this shit together. Don’t you ever, ever, say anything like that to me again.” it didn’t matter to Bucky that he was thinking this to himself a few hours earlier. He was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

“Then you can’t say things like that to me either.” Steve told him.

“But…”

“No ‘buts’ from you.”

Steve and Bucky held each other's gazes for a moment before looking away.

“Fine.” Bucky muttered, looking at his knees.

Then Steve kissed him on the cheek.

Steve realized his mistake immediately and stood up from the couch, his tiny body quivering.

“I… I…” Steve stuttered out. He didn’t get to say anymore than that before Bucky stood up and put his mouth on Steve’s.

It was only for a second. Only a second. In that second Bucky felt the scrape of Steve’s dry lips against his and the gasp of breath that escaped from him, warming his entire body.

Just one second.

In the next second Bucky backed away, knocking into the end table and rushing to his room, slamming and locking his door behind him. He put his head against the door.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered, letting the blurring world finally take him too.

 

* * *

 

 

**1942**

 

Bucky still kept the drawing folded in the inside pocket of his uniform, even through the hell of the war.

It was an orange, even if it wasn’t in color you could tell exactly what it was by the shape and texture of it on the paper.

On the back of the paper, in pen, it said “Christmas, 1937.”

Then there was a note on it:

 

_“Dear Bucky;_

_I’m sorry about last night, I really am. I had no right to do what I did, it was just… I don’t know. Something weird. Your eyes looked too blue, your cheeks were too red, and it felt like I was floating._

_I know that makes no sense, but you were drunk, and I was also a little bit drunk… My whole point is, I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry. I don’t want to think I mucked things up with us, you’re my best friend, and I care about you. I care about you too much. So maybe we could just forget the entire thing happened? Go back to normal? I’ll be back at six. Have a Merry Christmas._

_-Yours, Steve_

 

There was a reason Bucky kept the drawing in his pocket, and on how before the war he kept it under his mattress, looking at it while he heard Steve snoring in the next room.

He didn’t want to forget.

He would try to never, ever, forget.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! If you have any questions or whatever, you can find me at kamalacarter.tumblr.com


End file.
